


discendo discimus

by hiensou



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Desk Sex, Dry Orgasm, Lingerie, M/M, Professor Makoto, Public Sex, Under-Desk Blow Jobs, did i just give the entire thing away by tagging all this, well whatever enjoy the filth!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 14:23:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4790561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiensou/pseuds/hiensou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haruka wasn't sure how he was expected to survive throughout the rest of the school year. How he was supposed to breathe, walk, function normally every day, take notes and excel in tests, when the circumstances presented themselves in this very way before his eyes. When there were these surges of electricity beneath his skin, without even a fragment of touch; this dizziness that undermined his plans to stay cool, stay calm.<br/>It just so happened that Haruka's literature teacher, Tachibana-sensei, was the most attractive person in the entire universe. </p><p>  <i>(title meaning: by teaching we learn/teaching teaches [latin proverb])</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	discendo discimus

Haruka wasn't sure how he was expected to survive throughout the rest of the school year. How he was supposed to breathe, walk, function normally every day, take notes and excel in tests, when the circumstances presented themselves in this very way before his eyes. When there were these surges of electricity beneath his skin, without even a fragment of touch; this dizziness that undermined his plans to stay cool, stay calm.

It just so happened that Haruka's literature teacher, Tachibana-sensei, was the most attractive person in the entire universe. Haruka had not seen _everyone_ on Earth, had not interacted with the mass of people down to the very last seven billionth, but he _knew_. You could find straighter noses, plumper lips, higher cheekbones, bigger muscles—or smaller, for that matter—but you could not find anyone with the same aura that Tachibana-sensei had. This, Haruka was absolutely certain of. This was a calculation he had done in his head when he was supposed to be writing a report on early 1800's realism in the western world.

He had read about Sherlock Holmes, been impressed by his skill and eccentric persona, but knew that even if you were to put this master of deduction on the case, there was no one out there. No one with the same combination of summer highlights in their eyes and warm assurance in their laugh. No one with the same strong jaw, compensated by the same youthful, benevolent gaze. No one with those lame jokes about Murakami only they themselves understood, no one with the witty haikus.

Haruka had come to the conclusion that you could dissect and categorise every last part of Tachibana and end up with some mediocre parts, some amazing parts, some that had room for improvement… Anyone but him would look at these parts, look at the smile that could disperse rain clouds and the large palms with long fingers, and think to themselves that these ought to belong to a rather lovely person. Only Haruka would know what an understatement that was. Once the parts were put together, the result was _deadly_.

He narrowed his eyes at his professor as the man had his back turned to scribble things onto the blackboard, muscles working beneath the fabric of his plaid shirt. Haruka glared daggers into that broad back, hoping to achieve some kind of revenge for the suffering Tachibana so unknowingly caused him. Once his professor turned around, gesturing with his arms and smiling at his class with that glimmer of passion in his smaragdine eyes, Haruka's stare immediately fell. His skin burned ardently, and he touched a finger to his cheek, condemning himself and his stupid face and Tachibana and his even stupider face.

What made matters even more lethal, was Tachibana-sensei walking in with something wholly unfamiliar donning that face, one seemingly ordinary Wednesday morning.

Haruka's breath stuck in his throat, and he forgot to sit down on his chair, like a machine stuck mid-motion. Everyone else was seated around him, and Tachibana dropped a heavy load of books onto the front desk before glancing up at Haruka, smiling with his head cocked to the side, and Haruka's heart finally sputtered back into movement. He sat down with a shaky breath and began flipping through the pages of the novel they had been assigned last week, words smudged together before his eyes.

Tachibana pushed the red spectacles further up the bridge of his nose and began his lecture.

 _They're just glasses,_ Haruka told himself internally, but knew that arguing with himself was futile. The glasses themselves weren't the cause of his sudden heart palpitations—he had seen similar glasses several times before, was even certain one or two of his classmates wore them. It was Tachibana himself. It was another fatal, unfair combination. The glasses fit into the teacher role perfectly, intensified his mature and authoritarian glow, but contrasted against his sweetness, his gentleness, and it drove Haruka insane in ways he couldn't ever fathom.

He spent that class with his nose submerged in his book, pretending to take notes of Tachibana's words every now and then to avoid being called out for inactivity. The last thing his heart could handle right now was Tachibana looking him in the eye, speaking to him, expecting a coherent answer. Haruka didn't very much feel like humiliating himself in front of the entire class by drooling instead of replying, after all.

None of the information shared by his professor was registered, and he only snapped out of his tunnel vision of Tachibana once the crowd around him was almost fully dispersed. Tachibana was erasing the notes from the blackboard, and Haruka found himself unable to move, watching the muscles tense and relax rhythmically in his arm and back as he swept the eraser across the board. Then, he turned around to collect his papers and books into a fine little tower, and glanced up at Haruka in surprise.

“Nanase-kun?” he smiled politely around the name, “Do you need help with something?”

“I, uh,” Haruka began, but formulating words seemed almost as impossible as breathing right now. He smoothed his hands over his books, looking down in slight embarrassment.

“With turning the page, for example?” Tachibana cocked his head to the side, and while the comment was vaguely accusatory, Haruka couldn’t find himself offended or guilty in the least, what with his professor’s honey-sweet tone. Either way, Haruka couldn’t help but think _guilty as charged_ , as he had in fact ended up neglecting his books since the start of the lecture.

“Sorry,” was all Haruka could muster, feeling frustrated with himself as he scooped the books into his backpack and prepared to leave. Before he could get up, however, Tachibana was already opposite him, leaning on the table.

“How are things with you, Nanase-kun?” the professor asked, again tilting his head a bit, but looking more worried than curious.

Haruka blinked at him, before tearing his gaze away. All was fine, in the sense Tachibana was referring to. But other than that, Haruka’s heartbeat remained irregular and his skin was itchy with tingles and pearls of sweat. Tachibana never asked about his _sexual_ frustration, however, so he bit his tongue.

“‘S fine,” said Haruka, shrugging his shoulders and making sure to put on his most nonchalant face.

“Really?” Tachibana probed further, “You looked spaced out today, although you were still looking straight at me.”

Haruka gulped.

“I figured you probably had something big on your mind?”

“Something big...” Haruka had to use all his will-power to keep those blues of his from darting south. “I guess you could say that.”

Tachibana smiled at him then, all sugary and cotton-soft. It made the sparks that teased Haruka’s skin turn into something warmer, something that relaxed his muscles and made him want to smile back. “I won’t force you to tell me anything, of course; I’m just your teacher,” he said, “But know that if you need to borrow an ear, mine’s always up for grabs. My students’ well-being is important to me, not only because I want you to be able to give your best at tests, really, but you’re all such inspiring, impressive young people, you know? I care about you.”

Haruka’s throat clenched up. It was almost as if he _wanted_ to have a problem to cry about, if it meant more of those kind words, that tender look, maybe even Tachibana’s arms around him in a friendly embrace.

Bad idea. _Horrible_ idea. Haruka nodded curtly and stood up from his chair, it squeaking unpleasantly against the floor.

“Thank you, but it’s nothing, really,” he swung his backpack over his shoulders, “I’m just having an off day. I’ll make up for it tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Tachibana’s eyebrows pinched together, “We don’t have class tomorrow, Nanase-kun. Or do you need my assistance after school?”

“Ah,” Haruka looked away, biting his bottom lip. “Well…”

* * *

Haruka was daring. Very, very daring. Daring and ruthless. Daring and ruthless and stupid. But, incidentally, Haruka was also a good student. He had decided on passing all of his classes without fail, because getting through them only once would mean the least hassle. Tachibana had interfered with his intentions, but it was admittedly also an intriguing spice he never thought he'd taste in his life. An obstacle he wasn't sure he could get past without looking back at with hesitation to proceed, which confused and excited him all at once.

The smartest thing to do would be to whole-heartedly concentrate on his studies, he knew. To sit at the back where the crinkled corners of Tachibana's eyes as he smiled weren't in such high definition. To analyse his books with a passion so avid it kept his focus in a taught grip, away from the impressed words of praise uttered by Tachibana's light cotton voice as Haruka handed in assignments he had poured his everything into.

But Haruka was daring and ruthless and stupid, and he was falling behind because of his inability to concentrate in class, so now, he had succumbed to the pressing need of help and asked Tachibana for extra lessons.

What good could come out of this, Haruka knew not. More time to ogle his professor's protruding clavicle and to long for the texture of his lightly tan skin wouldn't exactly fix his situation. Yet, here he was, by a table in the farthest corner of the vast school library, waiting for the object of his affection to arrive.

Haruka always chose this table, as it was relatively secluded from the rest of the hall, hidden from sight unless you rounded the last rows of psychology books and Greek mythology, which people rarely seemed to do. Even as they came to study these very subjects, their intrusion still wasn't big enough to pop the bubble around Haruka and his small table. It was an ideal spot.

 “Nanase-kun?” he heard a hushed and slightly confused call of his name from the other side of the psychology shelves.

Perhaps a bit too ideal.

Standing up from his seat, Haruka rounded _Bowlby's Attachment Theory_ and walked up behind his professor, whose head whipped around quickly as Haruka tapped him on the shoulder. “Oh! There you are.”

“I'm sitting 'round here,” said Haruka, gesturing for Tachibana to follow him to the little table.

Tachibana laughed as they sat down. “Cosy,” he whispered, spreading out a notebook and a copy of the novel he had assigned his class onto the wooden surface before him.

Haruka hummed in affirmation.

“So, what is it you need help with?” asked Tachibana, pulling at his tie a bit. _Please don't do that,_ begged Haruka in his mind, and hurriedly averted his eyes to stare at a poster of Freud. “From what I've seen, you're doing relatively well in class.”

“You think?” Haruka asked, sincerely surprised. He knew he could do a lot better, after all.

Tachibana nodded with a friendly smile. How he always acted so equal to his students and yet received as much respect as he did, Haruka could not understand. Perhaps that was exactly why, though. Tachibana never showcased his superiority in any way, and if it weren't for the blazing heat in the base of Haruka's gut every time Tachibana looked at him, the man would probably put him at ease with his easy-going, well-meaning aura.

“Your thoughts on the books we read are always very interesting and unique. I enjoy reading your assignments.”

Haruka's face coloured a little. “Thank you.”

The smile splitting the other's cheeks grew, and he nodded once. “Of course. Although, there are some that you still haven't done...” Tachibana flipped through his notebook, read something and closed it again too quickly for Haruka to sneak a peek, and then reached down into his briefcase for a stack of papers. Haruka thought he saw his name on the first page, but couldn't be too sure. “Ah, yeah,” mused his professor, “You never handed in your poetry analysis, nor the report on—”

“I know,” Haruka cut him off, “That's exactly why I need your help. I'm... I'm having trouble concentrating in class, so I thought that if maybe I got some extra time to work with you for a while, I could finish the things I'm behind on.”

“Mm, I see,” Tachibana leaned his arms on the table and looked at Haruka, “Well, I'm glad you came to me right away. Of course we'll work this out.”

Haruka nodded wordlessly. The man kept on smiling at him, and Haruka felt feverish.

“I think it's best to start with the oldest one, don't you? Then we'll work out way toward more recent assignments from there. Let's see here, which one's the oldest...”

Tachibana dug further into his briefcase, and Haruka released a slow breath, watching the flexing of his arm muscles as he went through his documents.

 

They continued to meet after school hours once a week. Always at the same spot beside the innermost shelves of the library, Tachibana's reading glasses falling down on his nose when he leaned too far forward, and Haruka's heart working on the choreograph of an advanced circus performance behind his lungs. Haruka’s concentration in class did not improve, but he made up for it after school hours and therefore discarded the initial idea of moving to a seat farther back in class. As torturous as it may have been, watching his professor up close was always the highlight of his week. Or more so, the second one, as it dimmed a bit in comparison to actually being alone with Tachibana.

* * *

As autumn bled into early winter, the weather got progressively less pleasant. In the gigantic lecture halls, Haruka usually sat somewhere in the middle row of seats, and never really got the chance to gaze out any windows. The rain slamming against the glass was hard to ignore though, and continued throughout the rest of the day. As he was sitting in the library with Tachibana, he glanced toward the downpour blurring the window beside their little table, hoping it would stop before it was time to head home. He lived only ten minutes by foot from his university and never took the train, which meant he was bound to be soaked to his very core the moment he stepped outside.

As luck would have it, the storm calmed down considerably by the time their study session was done, but the clouds were still spilling themselves onto the asphalt of Tokyo. Haruka was standing by one of the school's many doors, glaring at the weather outside with a twinge of reluctance in his stomach. He should have picked a better jacket; this one was more of a wind jacket, thin and pitiable to the likes of mid-November.

“Not looking up, huh?” came a voice from behind, and Haruka turned to see Tachibana with his hands on his hips, bundled up in a thick, green parka and a knitted muffler around his neck. Haruka's face warmed despite the invisible tendrils of cold sneaking in through the slits of the doors and windows.

“Doesn't seem like it,” said Haruka quietly, “I should have brought a better jacket.” he voiced his thought from earlier.

He could feel Tachibana's eyes on him, and became very conscious of his posture, and what to do with his hands.

“You'll get sick for sure if you go outside like this, Nanase-kun,” he muttered pensively, and Haruka offered no second opinion. With a sigh, Tachibana began to unzip his jacket. “Here, take mine.”

Haruka blinked a few times at the square of glass cut through the door, washed clean by the adamant droplets from above, before he turned to look at his professor with eyes big as planets. “Sorry?”

“I'm driving home, anyway, but you live close, right?” said Tachibana, “Your hair is always a little dishevelled when you come into class, like you've been walking, so I assumed you live like five minutes away or something.”

“Ten.”

“That's even worse!” Tachibana shrugged his coat off, “You'll get a fever — or more!”

A huff of air left Haruka in amusement. So this Greek god of a teacher was a worry-wart, it seemed.

“It's fine, really,” said Haruka, but made no move to stop the other from wrapping his olive jacket around Haruka's smaller frame. “A cold never hurt anyone.”

“You have a test tomorrow though, Nanase-kun,” said Tachibana with a wagging finger, “I wouldn't want you to miss it because of something like this. Not after all the hard work you've been doing.”

Haruka sighed and slid his arms into the sleeves of his professor's jacket. His fingertips peeked out of them like a child's, and suddenly not only their size difference, but their age difference as well, shone Haruka in the face like an accusatory flash light. “Oh...” he breathed, more so from the realisation that his crush was one hundred percent inappropriate than from the discovery of his too-short arms.

Tachibana hadn't a clue of his inner turmoil, however, and chuckled softly at the sight. “Sorry, looks like I gave you a new home, huh?”

Haruka huffed and sent a frown his way, which only drew another laugh from the taller man.

“You can return it tomorrow. Have a good night, Nanase-kun.” Tachibana turned to leave, pulling his muffler over his face a bit and fishing his car keys out of his pocket. “Oh, and good luck on the test!”

“Yeah...” mumbled Haruka, watching as the other disappeared from sight before zipping his—Tachibana's—coat closed and walking out the door.

 

He returned to his small apartment feeling as if he had teleported from one building to another. The parka shielded his body down to the caps of his knees, and the hood protected his hair from the downpour. He was warm and dry, just like before he had left, but there was a buzzing beneath his skin that travelled in tickling waves down the column of his neck, his spine, and into his fingertips, itching to touch what was already too far away, and too forbidden anyway.

Tachibana's scent was all around him, engulfing him. It was comforting, like the familiar smell of a dear friend, and it made his muscles relax to the point where he felt like his body was filled with jelly. Simultaneously, it was the air of a sin he was disallowed to indulge in, and it intrigued him in a way he knew it shouldn't.

Haruka kicked his shoes off and went straight into his bedroom, falling between the sheets with a grunt of relief. He pulled the collar of the jacket over his lips and his nose, inhaling Tachibana's cologne deeply, like a mild aphrodisiac.

“Fuck...” he breathed, writhing his hips a bit.

No one could see him sinning here; there would be no trace of it for anyone to pin on him, either. But the guilt was still present, the shame of even considering it. It spurred him on all the same, though, and he reached between his thighs as he closed his eyes and drank in the scent of what was so tempting, so beyond his reach.

The mixture of cologne and whatever made up Tachibana's natural scent made it easy to envision him there with Haruka. He massaged his crotch with his hand for a minute or two, squirming beneath his own palm. He pretended it was someone else's entirely. He pretended it was bigger, firmer, intent on teasing Haruka before giving him what he so desired. Punishing him before replacing all the blood in his body with bliss.

“Ta... ah...” he breathed out, pressing his fingertips against the confined bulge beneath his jeans. It was already unbearable, the warmth of his professor's jacket enveloping his body and making these sensations ten times grander.

Haruka finally unzipped his pants and fondled himself with only his underwear keeping him from direct skin-to-skin contact. The pleasure was more evident now, and a broken moan escaped his lips.

His own voice worked as a vile reminder of what he was doing, and he bit his lower lip to stop himself from exclaiming again. The shame was a thrill he thought he could get used to.

Eventually his needs became too much, and he lifted his hips from the mattress to bunch his jeans and underwear around his ankles, too desperate to take them off altogether. He plopped down on his stomach, whining into his pillow as his swollen cock was sandwiched between his lower belly and Tachibana's jacket.

“Ah... _please_...” he mewled, voice muffled. His hips stuttered forward almost instinctively, shaft dragging up and down the inside of the jacket. He stopped for a second, twisting the lower half of the jacket a bit, cautious of the zipper.

“Tachibana…sensei...” The name fell from his lips repeatedly like a broken record. With fingers gripping harshly at the sheets, and saliva creating a dark spot on his polka-dot pillowcase, he thrust his hips forward over and over again, the muscles in his thighs twitching from the exertion.

“Tachibana— ah, _please_ , f-fuck me,” his voice was high in pitch, whiny and demanding as he closed in on climax. Heat prickled his skin all over as if he were being burned, and his head was swimming, Tachibana-sensei the only thing behind his eyelids. A flash of rational panic hit him then, and he stopped rutting against the dark green fabric, instead reaching a hand down to encircle his cock and jerk it hastily, almost violently, until he spilled himself onto the sheets rather than the jacket. He continued to stroke himself until he was coming dry, whimpers still slipping out from between his wet lips.

He fell asleep like that, feeling dirtier and more satiated than he ever had in his life.

* * *

Haruka went to school a little earlier than usual the day after that, wanting to return Tachibana's jacket before the classroom filled with people. As predicted, his teacher was already seated by his desk, glasses slipping down to the tip of his nose, as he prepared today's test.

“I think you need to adjust those,” said Haruka teasingly as he walked up to him, wearing the large jacket as if it were his own. Tachibana raised his head, looked Haruka up and down, and smiled.

“What?” he laughed.

Haruka nodded towards him. “Your glasses. They're always slipping off.”

Tachibana clicked his tongue. “Ah, I know,” he removed said spectacles, turning them this way and that in between his long fingers, “I only just got them, but I should probably go back to the optician again and ask to have them fixed.” He looked back at Haruka's face, before his gaze travelled once more to the body that looked so small beneath his coat, despite the fact that Haruka was an adult, and not to mention a swimmer.

Tachibana stood up and straightened the collar of the jacket with a grin, almost as if they both intended for Haruka to keep it. The latter wouldn't mind, truth be told.

“You look cute in my jacket,” said Tachibana. Then, his fingers froze at the words that left his own mouth, and his face seemed to go pale. Haruka himself was in shock, too, confused and amused at the same time.

“I'm sorry?” he said, voice lowered to a near-whisper of incredulity.

“Ah, oh no,” exclaimed Tachibana, “That was very unprofessional of me, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.” He let out a contrived laugh, taking a step away from the other.

“Don't worry about it,” said Haruka, but his feet were still rooted to the floor; his bones were still icicles. Tachibana's eyes fleeted around the room, looking everywhere but his student, while Haruka's couldn't leave the scarlet tint of his professor's cheeks. After what seemed like the oddest little eternity fit into a span of a minute or so, Haruka lifted his arms to unzip the jacket. He felt like a rusty robot, movements forced and unsure.

Once he slipped the jacket off of his shoulders, he closed it again and held it out for his professor to take.

“Thank you, Nanase-kun,” Tachibana said, his words a drawn-out sigh.

“You too,” said Haruka, “for letting me borrow it.”

Tachibana nodded stiffly.

“I'll go sit down.”

“Okay.” Tachibana followed his example, slumping into his chair to continue with his paperwork. He cleared his throat as Haruka walked towards the seats. “A-And don't worry, I won't slip up again, I promise.”

Haruka couldn't help but reply, “I wouldn't mind if you did.”

Tachibana whipped his head up to stare at him, but Haruka pretended as if the words had never left him.

* * *

Something had snapped within Haruka, like a light switch being flicked. He knew he was treading dangerous grounds when he set out to charm his literature teacher, but Tachibana's verbal mistake had been on his mind for days, and he had decided that if there was even the slightest chance of Tachibana sharing his improper interest, Haruka simply _needed_ to pursue it. It was entirely egoistical, he knew. It was an animalistic, bodily need and it was a chance at concentrating better in classes. But then again, it wasn't as if Tachibana couldn't gain from it too.

He reasoned, however, that his cheeky comment after returning the borrowed jacket the other day had been kind of a big blow to come out of nowhere, and so he opted to lie low for a while after that. Two of their library sessions flew by uneventful, and by the third, Tachibana had shredded the rigidity in his stance and the hesitation in his interaction with Haruka. The latter almost felt a little bad for knowing he was about to wreck Tachibana's ease once more.

He told himself it was for a good deed, at least.

* * *

Haruka had never flirted before. And he had certainly never thrown himself head-first into a wooing mission like this. However, he soon found that, what with the circumstances, all he needed to do was be honest. Not entirely honest though, of course, lest he scare his professor away or get himself thrown out of school (although he doubted Tachibana could find it within his heart to tell on Haruka, no matter how inappropriate a confession he made.)

He loosened the shackles he had on himself a little, standing closer to his teacher, glancing up bashfully from beneath long, black lashes; touching his arm every now and then; allowing more smiles, allowing more lingering, allowing a certain sultriness into his voice every now and then, as if this was something he did every day. Haruka was genuinely shocked with his own ability to be coy, to be inviting, and it strengthened his confidence, made him bolder. But it was never any news to him that he could go after something he truly wanted with an impressive force and determination.

* * *

“You see, that's what Kirino is getting at here,” said Tachibana as he pointed to a paragraph in the paperback book lying in front of them, “It's a parallel to what was described in chapter two; do you remember what that was?”

“Hm?” Haruka blinked, coming out of an involuntary—but, as it would prove itself, rather convenient—daze.

Tachibana gave a tiny sigh. “Chapter two, do you remember what its focus was?”

“...” Haruka stared at the finger pressed against page 233 of the novel. He repeated the number in his head a few times, letting the seconds pass. “Sorry, what were we talking about?”

His teacher released a heavier sigh, leaning back in his chair and looking at Haruka with upturned eyebrows of sympathy. “Nanase-kun...”

“I'm sorry,” Haruka quickly interrupted, “I was listening, I swear. It's just hard to take in your words sometimes, when your voice...”

Tachibana didn't say anything, either waiting for Haruka to finish his sentence, or unsure of how to react. After too long had passed and no further elaboration was given, he spoke quietly, cautiously. “When my voice, what?”

The pools of azure beneath Haruka's shielding lashes flickered to up toward him and down again, and Haruka seemed to almost curl into himself a little. He was able to convey most of his thoughts rather bluntly—as was his modus operandi: taciturnity and straight-forwardness—but this shyness was part of an act. Part of his so called _wooing,_ although the word honestly made him cringe.

Haruka shrugged, then. “When your voice is so nice to listen to.”

Tachibana stared at him. Haruka stared back. His heart was pounding madly within him, threatening to jump right out of his throat. He then noticed Tachibana's jaw tensing and slacking again, before the weak crimson dusting the apples of his cheeks flourished all over his face and his neck, and his resolve faltered. Tachibana’s gaze fell to the finger trembling slightly against page two hundred and thirty three. Haruka was three steps ahead of the other. They were playing a game, and the dice had granted him with three humble dots: a blush, an aversion of eyes, and a tremble.

“That's.” said Tachibana. “That's. Um. Kind of inappropriate.”

Haruka's chest swelled and deflated again at how unstable the other's voice was. “I'm sorry,” he said, almost sincere about it.

“It's okay,” Tachibana said, surprising Haruka. He then looked up with a smile. Friendly as always, almost a little teasing. “I guess we're even now, huh?”

Haruka resisted the urge to pout as he took two steps back. But standing beside Tachibana wasn't so bad, either. He straightened his back a bit where he sat, swallowing. “I guess so.”

* * *

Things became harder for Makoto. Figuratively and literally.

It did not take long for him to realise his attraction to that one very peculiar, reticent and _excruciating_ student of his. He had encountered students with good looks before; they were developed, often well-groomed adults, and he couldn’t deny that some were a tad more to his taste than others. But Nanase Haruka was something else entirely. This man—boy, Makoto reminded himself—was enigmatic and inviting, while still keeping an air of being reserved. It lured him in and blocked him out both at once, rendering Makoto confused as to which step was appropriate next, and thus giving Nanase a lot more power than he should have had. A power he was not afraid to use.

Makoto knew he should have shut down any hint of flirtation right away, but was too wary, and eventually too intrigued. He never let his gaze linger too long, and restrained any urge to as much as brush his fingers over the fine skin of Nanase’s wrist. But simultaneously, he never guarded himself from the other’s advances; Nanase’s bold little comments, his leaning toward Makoto and his fingers fanning over Makoto’s unnecessarily, were only met with a red hue across the older man’s face. If only it were a shield to mask his interest and not a window, providing Nanase with an unhindered peek of the other’s keen but embarrassed thoughts.

Currently, Makoto was in pure agony from watching Nanase chew the end of his pencil. As per routine they were seated in the corner of the library, and Makoto had asked him to read through a paragraph of the novel and tell him about the symbolism he could find in it. Nanase’s eyes were sharp on the page, concentration a stone wall. His lips held the tip of the pencil in between them gently, and his lean fingers secured its other end.

As much as Makoto would have liked to divert his own eyes elsewhere, it was wholly impossible. Surely, anyone else in their right mind would have found their stare immovable too, if they were in his position. He did not know how Nanase managed it, this ambiance of irresistibility, but he admired it and cursed it equally.

He watched words form around that pencil—words that did not make it to his ears, somehow—and failed to fight back the instinctive thought of how kissable Nanase’s lips looked. Not overly thin but not very plump either, a light tinge of pink and an unsurpassable softness he had yet to touch but _knew_ was there. Nanase’s face turned to him then, presumably with question written all over it as Makoto had yet to answer whatever he was saying, and Makoto blinked, tearing his gaze upwards. It was possibly the hardest thing he had ever had to do.

“S-Sorry, you were saying?” he pushed his glasses up on his nose, feigning a composure which Nanase’s blues pierced through in an instant. The latter smirked.

“I said, you’re staring.”

Makoto blinked a few times more, eyes flickering to that smirk and up again, before fleeing to a random book on the shelves. _The Willpower Instinct: How Self-control Works._

“Oh, was I?” Makoto forced a short laugh, shaking his head, “I’m sorry, I must have been daydreaming.”

Nanase watched him wordlessly for a bit, twirling the pencil in between his fingers. “About what?” he then asked, hushed and curious.

Makoto shrugged, looking down at the novel before them. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m a busy man, you see. I’ve got a lot on my mind. Haha.”

“Mm,” Nanase nodded slowly, every gesture and sound a gentle persuasion, “I bet you’re very busy. Maybe we should take a break,” he placed the pencil on the table, only to fill the empty space with Makoto’s own hands, “You’re a little shaky. See?”

Makoto glanced down at their adjoined hands, the intention of the other man blaring like an alarm without even having been said. “Nanase-kun…” Makoto muttered warningly, but did not pull his hands back. Nanase’s thumbs began rubbing over the backs of his hands, efficiently releasing the trembling tension in Makoto’s fingers.

“You can’t help me if you’re not on top of your game, sensei,” Nanase continued in a semi-murmur, Makoto unable to tell if that bashfulness was real or not, “I want you to be on top.”

Makoto glanced up, meeting a pair of mischief-brimmed orbs. “You do, huh?”

A nod. “That’s where you really excel, I believe. And… these are my… _studies_ we’re talking about. It’s kind of important.”

“Yeah, I understand,” Makoto cleared his throat, a grip on Nanase’s hands slowly coming to life in between them, “Well, I… I certainly want you to get what you need out of this. I wouldn’t want your hard work to have been in vain. So,” he squeezed Nanase’s fingers before letting go completely, turning to pack up the things they had spread out before them, “I won’t take up your time when I’m not fully present. I think it’s best we stop for today.”

He could feel the disappointment from Nanase’s indignant glare branding his skin, but ignored it. The younger man remained seated as Makoto swept his things into his bag and stood up, smoothing out the front of his shirt and blazer with his palms.

“I thought you meant to help me,” Nanase managed through half a pout, and Makoto sighed.

“Nanase-kun,” he turned toward him, assuming as much determination in his stance as he could muster, hoping he would fully convey his message to the other. “I don’t get paid for this, you know, I—”

“I could _pay_ you.” Nanase rose from his seat as well, staring rather nonchalantly at his teacher.

“No, listen…” Makoto sighed, carding a hand through his hair in resignation, “That’s what I’m saying. I’m here with you anyway, even without extra payment from the school, or, um, you. Because I want you to reach the goals you’ve set for yourself in class, and because I… Well, admittedly, I enjoy our… I…” he sighed once more, voice rising and falling as he got himself worked up and subsequently remembered not to let anyone hear them. “The thing is, we _can’t_.”

Nanase watched him for a long time, perhaps hoping that a long enough stare would spin Makoto’s reasoning in a three-sixty.

“And I won’t — I won’t give you a higher grade for it, if that’s what you’re trying to accomplish.” Makoto finished.

Nanase’s features twisted in puzzlement, and he shook his head. “That’s not it. I wouldn’t do that.”

Makoto couldn’t help but scoff. “You’re not the first one in this school who’s tried, Nanase-kun, so don’t feel bad. But it’s not gonna—”

“ _I wouldn’t do that_.” the younger man insisted, and Makoto thought for a second he could detect sincere hurt flash across Nanase’s features.

He was rendered momentarily speechless, confused as to what other reason there could be. Makoto had not allowed himself to ponder the possibility of this kid actually being interested in him for the most common reason: attraction. Compatibility. While he was aware of his own generally good looks, surely Nanase would have rather had someone closer to his own age. A pretty girl, or a pretty boy even. A man past his thirties, on the other hand? It seemed illogical to Makoto. He wasn’t quite old enough to fit into any kind of kink, but still the age gap was just what they needed to make any amorous or purely lustful absorption inappropriate.

Perhaps it was plausible, after all, that Nanase was suffering in the exact same way he was. In that case, he couldn’t help but feel a little bad. Nevertheless, he knew that while pining was hard to evade once engaged in, actually doing anything that broke the rules his position included was out of the question.

Nanase walked around the table, giving Makoto that adamant stare up close, before slumping against the table, half-sitting on the edge of it. Makoto couldn’t help but think how that pout had really taken over the boy’s entire demeanour now, and the ends of his lips tugged in amusement. Then, for some reason, the image of Nanase practically drowning in Makoto’s own parka came to mind, and his body shivered with unwarranted eagerness.

Makoto shuffled closer, but recalled his rational resolution, and turned again. Beginning to walk off, he called out quietly, “See you next week, Nanase-kun.”

Before he could get very far, however, there was a tight clasp of one of his sleeves, locking him in place. He looked back at Nanase, whose eyes were pointedly aimed away from him. Makoto took a step closer to him.

Without letting go, the younger of the two murmured, “Sorry, I…” he quickly trailed off, and cleared his throat. “Yeah. See you next week.”

Makoto waited for his fingers to release their grasp, but they were insistent on lengthening the farewells. His free hand grazed Nanase’s tense wrist delicately, fingertips sliding along the visible vein there. “Nanase-kun…” he whispered, but there was no retaliation on the other’s part. Sympathy coiled around Makoto’s self-control, strangling it in perfect alliance with the desire he had fought so hard to repress. Dropping his briefcase to the floor and stepping in between Nanase’s legs, Makoto waited for the boy to glance up—which did not take very long—and caught the latter’s downturned lips in a hungry kiss.

In a heartbeat, Nanase was on his feet, one hand planted against Makoto’s chest, the other gripping the back of his blazer roughly. His mouth opened readily for Makoto’s tongue, spilling a hushed but thoroughly pleased sound when Makoto’s licked against him.

It was a struggle for the professor not to reach for Nanase’s ass, to say the least, but a student was still a student, and he’d never forgive himself if he alarmed Nanase in any way. Thus, he kept his palms roving over the other’s hips. Nanase did not seem to harbour any complaints whatsoever, though, as his fingers were soon fiddling with Makoto’s belt buckle. The sound of it brought the older man’s senses back to him, and he hurriedly retreated his hands to stop Nanase’s. Breaking the kiss as well, but keeping their faces close enough for their breaths to collide, Makoto shook his head.

“I may have abandoned my principles just now, but I intend to keep my common sense and my _job_ , you know,” he admonished in sharp breaths.

Nanase huffed. “You’re kind of risking the second one there, kissing me.”

“Hey now,” Makoto pressed a thigh against the other’s crotch gently, but firmly, eliciting a gasp from Nanase. _So much for not alarming the poor boy_. “You don’t want me to change my mind again, do you?”

Nanase bit his bottom lip harshly, grinding himself slowly against the leg in between both of his own. Shaking his head in answer, he helped Makoto reach a conclusion. For one, Makoto was certain that now that he knew the taste of the younger man’s lips and had seen such easily prompted pleasure on his face, it was absolutely impossible for him to regain his self-control. In addition, Nanase having a sudden change of heart seemed completely off the table. What was left for him was the option he wished he could have picked from the get-go, namely, fucking Nanase like he had indirectly been begging for these last few weeks, all the while making sure no one caught them.

(Makoto wouldn’t say, but he had always possessed an imperishable affection for the thrill of semi-public sex, and wow, Nanase was _doubtlessly_ a siren sent to usher him straight to his demise.)

Stealing another yearning kiss, Makoto whispered in between the push and pull of their lips, “I’m going to go,” kiss, “to my office,” kiss, “and I want you to come,” kiss, “a few minutes after me.”

“Mm…” was all the response he got from Nanase, whose hands were trailing back to his zipper.

“Got that?” he inquired further, squirming against the hand rubbing a boner to life in his pants. “Don’t make it suspicious.”

“I won’t,” Nanase squeezed his growing erection a bit, and Makoto pulled back with a cut-off moan. “…Sorry.”

He picked his briefcase up wordlessly, before catching Nanase’s bottom lip in between his own one last time. Nanase took a step forward once they parted, feeling slightly wobbly as Makoto left him behind the psychology shelf.

* * *

Haruka entered the staff room with great apprehension, looking around but finding no one save for that familiar mop of sandy brown hair. It whipped around once the door clicked shut, revealing a worried looking face on the other side. Haruka gnawed at his bottom lip, slowly walking over to Tachibana, who stood from his chair and began to loosen his tie.

“No,” Haruka mumbled, halting the movements of Tachibana’s fingers by blanketing them with his own, “Leave it on.”

Tachibana looked taken aback, before his features flamed up in ardent enthusiasm. “I thought getting naked was kind of the point,” he teased, voice far too light-hearted for such a direct insinuation.

Haruka popped open the first button on Tachibana’s shirt, taking his time as he worked his fingers downwards. As they fanned over the small downward slope that concluded Tachibana’s chest before protruding in a series of defined abdominals, Haruka explained quietly, “I just mean the tie.”

“Oh,” Tachibana sat back against the edge of his desk, fastening his tie again once Haruka slid the collar out from its loop. “You like that?”

Tachibana’s jacket fell from his shoulders, soon followed by the shirt. Haruka nodded, somewhat shy in his ambiance. Incidentally, it was mostly artificial; Haruka was nervous, yes, but a bold soul, which he forced to lay low for the sake of his submissiveness. “Yes.”

Tachibana worked the buttons of Haruka’s own shirt, releasing them with a bit more haste than the student himself had done. His voice fell to a deep whisper as he teased, “Into that refined, authoritarian figure, are we?” His hands fleeted to Haruka’s fly. “Into being inferior?”

Haruka sucked in a breath as Tachibana skilfully undid his pants with one hand, the other cupping him with fingers that reached far. “If it’s you.”

“I’m special?” he cocked his head to the side, a flattered smile splitting his cheeks while his eyes were branded with something more sinister. “Why, Nanase-kun, you shouldn’t say things like that. It’s inappropriate.”

“I’m sorry,” Haruka breathed, feeling as if he had won the jackpot. He pressed himself against Tachibana’s hand, simultaneously wanting to pull away so that his trousers could slump to the floor. “I’ll—ah—I’ll take any punishment.”

“Oh?” the professor straightened himself, releasing Haruka’s crotch to grip both sides of his waist and haul him closer, pants sliding down to bundle around Haruka’s ankles. They both internally cursed the underwear that stayed put. “O-Oh…” Tachibana faltered at the sight of the other’s semi-erection clearly outlined by the snug fabric of his boxers. He removed a hand from Haruka’s side to palm his dick again, until he felt a wet stain begin to form.

Haruka, who was naturally quiet like a whisper and whose presence remained a mere shadow at will, was now breathing heavily through his nose. Every so often, his exhales made themselves known in the form of short-lived whines, drunk up by his professor, who was growing thirstier by the second.

“That’s…” Haruka began weakly, bucking his hips backward, “Enough…”

Tachibana chastised his demand by slipping his hand lower, planting a squeeze over Haruka’s sac and then letting go completely. Haruka gasped sharply, rising to his toes and swaying against Tachibana once he came down again.

His boxers were swiftly removed, erection on proud display, all glistening and flushed like a cherry. Tachibana licked his lips at the sight, but shivered nervously nonetheless. The reaction did not go unnoticed by Haruka, and he was equally thankful for that hunger gleaming in his professor’s bespectacled greens, and the reminder that Tachibana-sensei was still Tachibana-sensei, harmless and benevolent beneath a thick layer of lust.

Tachibana’s large palm curved around Haruka’s length, stroking it with steady movements as he stood and slowly pushed Haruka against the desk. With an electrical buzz throughout all of his body, and a haze in his head that made him feel all but high, Haruka complied, lying down over a few books and sheets of paper, too woozy to contemplate whether they had best been moved aside.

His ribs poked against his skin as he lay on the hard surface and the edge of the desk pressed against his tailbone. “You have a lovely arch to your back,” Tachibana mumbled thoughtlessly, pumping Haruka’s cock with a dangerous force and speed. Haruka’s body quivered.

Without awaiting any kind of response from the other, Tachibana looked around the room wordlessly. The only sound surrounding them was the slap and sliding of flesh as he jerked throbs of pre-cum from his student, accompanied by the chaotic but hushed and all but marvellous mewls trickling out of Haruka like tendrils of early morning fog. When Tachibana found what he was looking for, he turned his face back to Haruka with a smile, lifting the latter’s hand to replace it with his own. Haruka obeyed, stroking himself languidly, as Tachibana stepped away from his place in between Haruka’s thighs to fetch a bottle of hand lotion from his co-worker’s desk. He wore an impossibly adorable red on his face when he returned, regarding the younger man with contentment as he squeezed the makeshift lubrication onto his digits.

Tachibana raised Haruka’s legs to his shoulders with his dry hand, one at a time, taking his time fondling those smooth, creamy light thighs whilst. Haruka shivered and pumped himself harder as a pair of fingers coated his hole with lotion, rubbing a cold circle—a spiral—and entered him shamelessly.

“Are you close already?” Tachibana murmured his question, shoving his fingers farther in, nearly knuckle-deep already. Haruka practically melted in his hands, allowing him to stretch him easier.

“Nn…” came the younger’s strained reply, and he nodded for further clarification. Tachibana hummed, thrusting his two digits in and out more rapidly. Then, he blanketed the hand pleasuring Haruka’s cock with his own, covering the head and squeezing tightly as Haruka finished. The raven-haired boy’s spine shot up into a taut arc as he became unable to release, but orgasmed all the same. The sensation was alien, and he overlapped his ankles behind Tachibana’s head, tugging the man closer while coming without coming—the only way he could try to explain it.

Tachibana looked pleased, worrying both of his lips in between his teeth hungrily. Haruka’s hand fell from his cock, and his trembling limbs relaxed again as he came to. The professor poured some more lotion in between Haruka’s cheeks, pressing a third finger inside.

Haruka couldn’t tell exactly where he was between heaven and hell.

“Feel good, Nanase-kun?”

He released a long, stuttering breath in reply, and Tachibana chuckled light-heartedly.

“Thought so.”

He continued running his fingers in and out of Haruka, and it did not take especially long for the latter to be on that upturned slope once more, body anticipating yet another climax. Still he barely registered the digits spreading and curling inside of him, and only re-opened his eyes once they left his entrance completely.

Tachibana slid his boxers down, stained at the front and revealing a keenly curved length that drooled as he covered it with a condom retrieved from his own desk drawer, and aligned it with Haruka’s cleft.

Haruka took a firm breath, cleared his throat and grabbed at his professor’s tie, yanking him forward a bit, the tip of his cock edging on having entered him. “Do you take every one of your students on your desk like this, Tachibana-sensei?” he all but purred, curvature back in his spine and paperwork sticking to it.

Tachibana’s fingers dug into his hips as he gripped him strictly, cock dipping into him. It elicited a hiss from Haruka, and his hold of the other’s tie tightened, knuckles starkly white. “What if I do?” he said, and while Haruka knew even before asking that the answer was a definite dismissal, he scowled at the other toying with the concept of him being special.

“That’d make you a really, _really_ bad teacher.”

“This,” Tachibana said, accentuating his word with a sluggish thrust that curled Haruka’s toes, “Makes us both bad.”

Haruka’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, followed by a pleased moan.

Tachibana bucked forward again.

“Nanase-kun,” he breathed, tie slackening as he leaned toward Haruka’s ear, panting hotly against the shell of it, “You are the only student I’ve ever wanted to fuck.” Haruka saw white as he groaned unabashedly, ass completely filled by his teacher’s girth. His skin tingled, his legs shook, and his fingers were almost sore, locked so relentlessly around the other man’s tie. “What about you, hm? Really into sitting in your professors’ laps, aren’t you?”

“Would that make you jealous?” he teased through his teeth. Again, the answer was already out in the open, but the pleasure where their bodies joined together multiplied at their little word games, somehow.

“I’m honestly curious,” Tachibana said, hands roving up and down the other’s torso as he pulled out nearly completely and began pressing inside again.

Haruka shook his head, fastening the tie a bit around Tachibana’s gorgeous neck. “I’m barely into anything,” he admitted, azures flitting up to meet the other’s eyes, the generous length of his eyelashes casting a mischievous shade over them as he spoke, “Or rather, I wasn’t.”

He clenched around the other, cutting Tachibana’s breath short. The professor planted his palms against the surface of the desk, arms rigid as he bucked in and out marginally faster.

“ _Agh_ —” Tachibana’s bangs clung to his forehead, and his glasses were bouncing slightly at the tip of his nose, them slipping even more than usual what with the coat of sweat lingering on his skin. “How will I be able to fuck anyone else after you?”

Haruka’s mind caught on fire every time that unrefined word formed on Tachibana’s tongue; it was so unlike him, so unlike the both of them, but it only made the use of it all the more thrilling. Haruka pulled at the tie until Tachibana’s lips were in close enough proximity to steal a kiss from, and once he did, they seemed unintended to ever leave his own. Tachibana sucked his lips swollen and poked his tongue in between, intoxicating Haruka’s sense with each shared breath and each harsh thrust. His erection had not been grazed at all this time, and was desperate for stimulation. The neglect of it brimmed Haruka’s very being with need, and he whimpered around the lip his teeth were nearly drawing blood from.

Tachibana kept on smacking against his backside until he was mere inches from peaking, at which he hastily parted from Haruka, mouth nipping a trail down the latter’s jawline to his nipple, which he suckled fondly until Haruka’s nails dug into his skin a little too much and he pulled away completely.

He raised Haruka to his feet by his hand, eyes locked imperturbably the entire time. He then spun him around, wordlessly asking him to lie front-down against the desk. Haruka did so, wrinkled papers latching onto him by the sticky beads of sweat along his chest and abdomen, as they had the expanse of his back.

Tachibana wasted not a second settling inside him again, and rammed in and out with a considerably more forceful rhythm. He separated the other’s cheeks with his hands, kneading them greedily on occasion. Completely ignoring the fact that while it was after school hours, the building was not at all safe, their voices mingled together, bouncing off the walls in high pitches and raspy grunts.

Tachibana’s glasses eventually slid off of him completely, landing on the small of Haruka’s back. Haruka turned his head, lip in between his teeth as he picked the spectacles up to put them on his own face spontaneously. The room went a little blurry before him—but to be fair, it had already been so even without the glasses—and they fitted badly; however, Tachibana groaned throatily at the sight, and so Haruka decided to keep them on.

He lay his cheek down against the desk so that his teacher could see him, and closed his eyes, focus sharp on the sensations set in his body while the rest of the world was reduced to a kaleidoscope view.

He could tell by the growing erraticism in Tachibana’s hip movement, the fumbling of his fingers and the crack of his muffled moans that he was indeed on the edge, and Haruka began bucking his hips backward in sync with his professor’s jerky motions. Eventually, the power with which his professor snapped his waist, driving into Haruka’s ass, was enough to send the glasses flying a second time. They dropped to the desk, clatter a backdrop to Haruka’s breathy moans.

Tachibana pulled Haruka to his full height by the elbows, beginning to whimper into his hair and snaking his arms around Haruka’s middle. As he was held snugly, still fucked from behind with a maddening eagerness, Haruka reached over his shoulder for the tie, it serving as a leash and an assist handle at the same time.

Tachibana groaned hoarsely as he came, lowering his head to bite down at the juncture of Haruka’s neck. He thrust until the remaining waves of his orgasm died out, before kissing the vague mark on Haruka’s pale flesh and sinking to his knees, immediately cupping the boy’s balls with a hand and kissing the skin of his behind.

Haruka slumped forward, arms folded over the desk as his knees shook weakly.

“Ta—Tachi…” he attempted, his professor thumbing his sac gingerly and sucking at his ass cheek with sharp, irregular exhales against Haruka’s backside.

He came hard, explosions behind his eyelids and voice wholly uncontrolled. Tachibana groaned with him, watching as Haruka splattered the front of the desk without a single touch to his cock. Haruka could feel Tachibana grinning against his ass.

Misconduct ebbed at Haruka’s shores then, and he murmured against the other man’s desk, “Ah, about that grade…”

Tachibana froze for a moment, before catching the provocative tug at Haruka’s lips. He clicked his tongue and gave a little pinch to Haruka’s side, the latter squirming with a sharp exhale of amusement.

“Let’s just clean up and dress before anyone walks in, all right?” 

* * *

 

Classes went on as usual, Haruka’s wanton soothed by this new experience but simultaneously stirred up from knowing what he had had and could possibly have again. It wasn’t as excruciating, watching Tachibana in class, as Haruka now felt a step ahead everyone else (who had no idea they were competition, nor that they were losing); although, it was still an itch he couldn’t quite scratch by himself.

Their sessions past school hours were the same as well. He made no further attempt to flirt with his teacher, for he knew that it was unnecessary; if he wanted to be with Tachibana once more, he could simply ask, since it would not come as a shock to the other. Still, he refrained from doing so. It was an unspoken agreement that it had been a one-time thing. It should have been enough to know that it happened and could, theoretically, happen again. So why was Haruka waiting for Tachibana to initiate a reprise? It seemed that, after all, that first time would have a domino effect rather than solving a problem.

Overcome with desire one afternoon, as well as kept inside school grounds yet again by the bad weather and lack of umbrella, Haruka made a firm decision where he stood by the door, watching the cataract outside. He turned on his heel and walked briskly toward the classroom he knew Tachibana would still be sitting in, organising papers post-class before leaving for the day.

He creaked the door open cautiously and peeked inside, indeed finding his professor seated by his desk at the front of the large hall, seats empty and reverberations of rain against asphalt filling the silence. Haruka cleared his throat, causing Tachibana to look up. His glasses rested in place high on the bridge of his nose; it seemed he had had them fixed rather soon after their secret little rendezvous.

“Nanase-kun,” he smiled around the name, beckoning his student inside without further ado.

“It’s raining again,” Haruka said quietly.

“Here to steal my jacket?” Tachibana laughed, so amicable Haruka almost found himself guilty about his intentions. Almost.

He shook his head and walked up in front of the desk, fingertips absent-mindedly resting on the wooden furniture. “I’m just waiting for it to stop,” he explained, blues flickering to the pencil in Tachibana’s right hand, “It must be boring, all that paperwork.”

“It’s my job,” Tachibana shrugged, increasingly nervous as he noticed the hesitant—ominous—behaviour on Haruka’s part. “What’s up, hm?”

Haruka dared adorn his features with a sly smile. “I know a way to make it a bit more enjoyable, if you’re interested.”

Tachibana said nothing, staring ahead at him as if torn between jumping the idea, whatever it was, and clinging to the resolve he had worked to rebuild during these past few weeks. After a while he seemed to have made his choice, clearing his throat and averting his attention back to the sheets of paper in front of him. “My jacket is in the staff room. It should be empty. You know where it is.”

“I do.” Haruka raised his eyebrows, and the flush of his teacher’s face appeared so quickly he nearly found himself laughing out loud. In lieu of that, he looked around the room and tapped an index finger against the desk. Tachibana cleared his throat again, refusing to look up from his work.

Indignant and mischievous, Haruka slid to the floor so soundlessly Tachibana barely even noticed his sudden lack of height. Once on all fours, he crawled in beneath the desk, sitting on his knees in front of his unknowing professor. His brow wrinkled at Tachibana’s failure to notice his student—now in a very foreboding position—as he was still making eyes at the exam results before him instead. Haruka cleared his throat, but noticed no reaction at that, either. Perhaps Tachibana was ignoring him in the hopes that it would make his determination cave, but if so, he was deadly wrong.

Haruka’s hands lay softly upon the ankles of his professor, and slowly glided upwards and around to hold his calves. Tachibana’s back was most probably rigid as a flagpole right about now, but Haruka could not see.

A foot twitched forward on the floor, however, as if Tachibana wasn’t sure whether to run away or enjoy the service. Haruka wanted to make it a clear choice, and let his palms roam even further, until they were at Tachibana’s thighs, failing to clutch the full expanse of them. He exhaled deeply at how firm and full they were, wishing he could be on them right now.

“Nanase-kun…” Tachibana muttered in warning, at which Haruka simply smirked.

He leaned forward and pressed his mouth flush against the other’s cock, still concealed by several layers of clothing. The grunt that shot from the other’s lips sounded more admonitory than pleasured, however, so Haruka decided to make things a little harder for him.

… So to speak.

“Someone could wa— _aah_ …” Tachibana began, quickly cut off by the teeth sinking in around his shaft. His pants protected him from the could-be pain of those teeth, but still there was a pressure present enough for his hand to smack over his mouth, lest he have his cries echo the walls of the classroom. Haruka smirked proudly against Tachibana’s crotch, and proceeded to moan against it, the vibrations enhancing Tachibana’s suffering one more degree.

“ _Haruka_ ,” he hissed, but all said person found in the warning use of his name was the knowledge that Tachibana was exceptionally bad at being threatening. At least in this state. Of course, Haruka wouldn’t speak for a Tachibana _in control_ of his own crotch. He was fairly sure that if you were to push the right buttons with that one, he could abandon his angelic air completely. After all, Haruka had caught a vague glimpse of that particular phenomenon, not long ago at all.

“That’s unprofessional, sensei,” Haruka cooed from in between the other’s legs, fingertips pressing down gently in lieu of his teeth, like the paws of a kitten kneading their to-be rest place.

An incredulous laugh shot from Tachibana’s stiff lips. “You’re telling me to be professional…”

“Either way, it’s Haru, not Haruka.”

“Haru…”

“No,” he unzipped Tachibana’s pants with a strict flick of his hand, “That… It’s… It’s too intimate.” he finished in a grumble, slender digits unsteady at the sight of pre-cum soaking through his professor’s underwear in a small area right by the tip of his boner.

Tachibana laughed again, but it resonated with a lighter trill than before. “You sure have an interesting view of th— _oh_ , god, no…”

Haruka had planted his lips around the little stain on the other’s boxers, hollowing his cheeks and tasting a faintly salt flavour on his tongue as he sucked the head of Tachibana’s cock through the fabric. The professor slumped over his paperwork, gut twisting in blissful agony. Haruka was obviously new to this, his hot breath and fine lips curious and experimental; nearly juvenile in the way they handled Tachibana with trepidation and determination blended together.

Tachibana put his pencil down, instead covering his face with two shaky palms.

“If you really didn’t want to,” Haruka murmured against the head of the brunet’s still clad cock, “you could just kick me off.”

A shocked scoff was heard from above him. “Kick you?! Nanase-kun, I’m not going to kick you!”

“And why is that?”

“Because!” Tachibana’s voice was high-pitched and wobbly, and he squirmed vaguely in his seat, resisting the urge to buck against that mouth, “Because, I’m not that mean!”

“And?”

The professor sealed his lips shut, intending it permanent until the question fell away from the air between them. But perhaps he was transparent; perhaps Haruka was just that good at reading people. Either way, he knew lying would be a fruitless endeavour. “A-And…” he sighed, whining quietly as he rubbed his hands over his face, “B-Because, maybe, I don’t want you to stop…”

“Mm,” Haruka hummed approvingly, far too powerful for being the one on his knees.

“Wait, _you’re_ giving _me_ orders now?” Tachibana questioned, quirking an eyebrow at the seemingly empty hall around him.

“You’re free to give the orders, if you want to,” Haruka purred, tugging at the waistband of his professor’s underwear, but waiting to proceed until he was told to.

Tachibana sighed, face once again veiled by his own large palms, so warm he could have practically burnt his fingers on it. “Nanase-kun…”

“What do you want?” Haruka insisted, slipping a thumb beneath the garment and running it along the length of Tachibana’s cock, backing up toward the base once halfway down.

A chill surged through the professor’s body, and a weak but fully audible whine slipped from him. “I…” he began, perseverance sliding off of him like water off a raincoat, “I—I want you to…” another sigh, and he pinched the bridge of his nose in agitation, “S-Suck me off…”

Haruka tapped the faint trail of chestnut hairs beneath Tachibana’s navel expectantly.

With a somewhat firmer tone, the foundation still wobbly but passable, according to Haruka’s judgement, Tachibana clarified: “Suck me off, Nanase-kun.”

“ _Mm_...” Haruka bit his bottom lip, pulling hard at the hem of Tachibana’s boxers so that the length beneath them could spring to its full stance. Haruka sat back at the sight, a rather alien feeling of contentment and ecstasy brimming him. Unable to stretch his patience any further, he decided to go about this his own way—unless Tachibana chimed in with any demands—instead of coaxing more orders from the other.

He was, inevitably, a little apprehensive as to how to actually go about it. He had never given this kind of _favour_ before, but thought that surely, it couldn’t be all that hard. So, taking the tip into his mouth—very conscious of his teeth—he began to suckle it like a lollipop. It was probably best to ease into it, and so he continued to focus mainly on the head of Tachibana’s cock for a great while, lazily pumping the base with his fist.

The feeling was a little strange, but not too hard to get used to. Haruka felt collected, although intrigued, and so the girth of Tachibana did not intimidate him, though it was undoubtedly impressive. Taking in a little more, he knit his brows together, trying his best not to tense up as heavy warmth blanketed his entire tongue. A small noise of uncertainty sprung from Haruka’s throat, and he felt the man twitch in his mouth, if only by a fraction. The miniscule reaction served as a highly effective encouragement to Haruka.

Hollowing his cheeks as if trying to force the liquid out of the cock pre-ejaculation, Haruka drew multiple shivers and frail moans from the brunet still perched on his chair. He swirled his tongue around the length, and clenched the back of his mouth around the head, careful not to activate his gag reflex.

Tachibana was big. Very big. Haruka knew he wouldn’t be able to fully take him in before he’d learnt to deep-throat, but for now, he was content enough with trying his best at least; this was already further than he ever thought he could go.

A hand sneaked beneath the desk, fanning over Haruka’s temple before planting itself there and stroking his bangs aside. The palm was warm, wide, and continued to caress Haruka’s head encouragingly for several minutes, trembling in response to the wet sounds and hitched semi-words uttered by Haruka as he experimentally bobbed his head.

Tachibana was mostly soundless, eyes lidded beneath a wrinkled brow and mouth hanging ajar with nothing but stuttering breaths escaping.

Haruka could feel pre-cum sliding down his throat, and focused on not clenching up, lest it get in his airway instead. He pulled back a bit, swallowing what was slowly slipping down the back of his mouth, before resuming his work of caging half the entirety between his cheeks and flicking his tongue against the vein protruding on the underside.

In the middle of pressing his tongue flat against Tachibana’s cock, bumping it against the roof of his mouth, there was a knock at the door of the classroom, and a second later, Tachibana’s posture whipped straight up like an opened umbrella, as another teacher peeked their head into the hall.

“Fu-Fu-Fujimoto-san!”  Tachibana called out unnaturally loudly, and Haruka smirked despite his mouthful of cock, and despite the fright tensing his body.

“Tachibana-san,” Fujimoto greeted, inclining his head a bit and walking farther into the room. Tachibana’s feet pressed against the sides of Haruka’s folded legs, as if trying to conceal him. “Already grading that test for class B-2? Early as always!” the man laughed ebulliently, and Haruka could see him in his mind, patting his balloon of a belly the way he always did when he laughed at his own comments.

“A-Ah, yes,” Tachibana said, voice a bit frail. “What can I do for you?”

The clomp-clomp-comp of Fujimoto’s shoes came closer to the desk and Haruka swallowed instinctively, causing the hand still in his hair to tug in alarm, gentle but firm. Unable to help himself, Haruka pulled his head back and lapped at the head of his professor’s cock, fingers trapping its base.

“Well, I was just wondering if you had seen Inoue-san? I was supposed to walk her to the train station, but I seem to have lost her.”

Haruka rolled his eyes as he sucked in half the length again, wondering when Fujimoto was going to learn to take a hint already. _Everyone at school knows she’s out of your league, including her, Fujimoto-san,_ Haruka couldn’t help but think, ignoring the now rather panicked tugging at his hair.

“Oh, um, _ah_ —” Tachibana hissed slightly before continuing, “N-Nope, haven’t seen her. Maybe she went home already? It’s raining pretty badly, so— _nng_ —she probably didn’t want to wait, you know?”

“Perhaps,” Fujimoto said, his unknowing of Haruka slipping a hand down Tachibana’s trousers to massage his sac. “Yes. Hm. I suppose that must be it. I’ll ask her about it tomorrow, I think.”

His footsteps resounded vaguely as he shifted his weight to the other leg. Tachibana let out a slow, painstaking breath before forcing out, “Yes, do that. I, ah, I really need to get back to thi—”

“But you know,” Fujimoto interrupted, “There has been rumours about the two of us going around lately.”

“T-Two… The… You and I?” Tachibana sounded puzzled.

“No, no, no. Inoue-san and I.”

“Oh?”

“Mm,” Fujimoto shifted his weight again. Tachibana squirmed discreetly in his seat. “Someone said they heard us, ahem, _getting it on_ , so to speak, in the staff room.”

Haruka nearly choked at that, ceasing his sadistic playfulness for a moment.

“R-Really?”

“A few weeks ago, yes. It only reached me the other day though,” Fujimoto grumbled, “Now, I’m not saying I am repulsed by the idea—Inoue-san has a shine to her that no sane man can ignore! But,” he slapped his palm onto the top of the desk, startling the breath out of Haruka, “I am a respectable man, and Inoue-san is a respectable woman. Such crude behaviour would not occur to me, ever! This is a place for learning, for _studies_ —not to mention a _public_ place.”

“It is indeed,” Tachibana agreed hastily, and somehow, Haruka felt those words aimed at him like a bullet. He retaliated by sucking a bit more forcefully, however remaining careful of any particular noises, of course. Tachibana flinched and let his hand tremble against Haruka’s cheek.

“Well,” Fujimoto went on, “I just thought it was necessary to put that out there. I would _never_ —”

“ _Please_ …” Tachibana whispered, to which Haruka replied by tightening his lips around him.

“—dishonour Inoue-san that way. Nor our beloved university. This is final.”

“Yes, yes,” Tachibana uttered frantically, “I completely agree. Now I…”

“Oh yes!” Fujimoto shouted his realisation, before audibly clapping his belly and chortling merrily, “I shall leave you to your work. Your good work. Mm. We are lucky to have you here with us, Tachibana-san,” Haruka could hear Fujimoto’s hand slapping against Tachibana as well, an encouraging pat on the shoulder, “Respectable Tachibana-san.”

Said respectable man laughed, more contrived than Haruka had ever heard it. He resumed licking the slit at Tachibana’s tip. “Thank you, ah, same to you, Fujimoto-san.”

The classroom echoed with shoes stomping back toward the door, the professor calling out over his shoulder, “See you tomorrow then, Tachibana!”

“Yes, you too,” the brunet replied, hand sliding to the back of Haruka’s head. His long digits dug into the younger man’s raven locks, intent on pushing him forward as soon as they were alone, no doubt. Haruka dared release a subtle moan around his professor’s cock, the vibrations making him clench his hand around the dark strands on Haruka’s head.

The door opened, closed, and opened again a second later, before Fujimoto’s voice called out, “You haven’t happened to see my hand lotion, have you?”

Tachibana gulped audibly. “No, I definitely haven’t.”

“Hmm. I always keep it at my desk in the staff room, but I haven’t seen it for a really long time…”

“Maybe you brought it home with you and forgot about it?” Tachibana hurried, tapping his pencil against a book impatiently, “Happens to me all the time. Hah.”

“Perhaps…” the man contemplated quietly, before clapping his stomach with another brief laugh, “I shall look! Thank you, good night.”

The door closed.

And remained closed.

The persistent silence acted as starting shot for Haruka, who opted to suckle the other man’s erection with a force that brimmed on desperate, slender fingers cupping his balls all the while. Tachibana swore under his breath and slumped forward again, forehead hitting the desk.

“Haru… Haru, _please_ …” he begged feebly, voice coming to a stuttering halt a second later as he orgasmed heavily. Haruka kept his lips at the tip, not wanting it on his face nor straight down his throat. He let it land on his tongue and swallowed in intervals, humming as he licked away the last few spurts with contentment. Afterwards, he sat back on his knees and wiped at his mouth as Tachibana stuffed his spent cock into his pants, pushing the chair back to glance down at Haruka.

Haruka licked his lips. “Salty.”

“Nanase-kun…” Tachibana combed his hair back with a hand, dishevelling it carelessly. “That…”

“I know,” Haruka cut him off, knowing exactly what had been wrong with that decision, but finding no remorse within himself. He crawled forward on all fours, coming up to rest his arms on Tachibana’s thighs. “It won’t happen again, sensei.”

With a thick swallow and an indignant sigh, Tachibana brushed the hair from Haruka’s face. “It better not.”

He knew as he admonished their repetitively disintegrating persistence that it would, in fact, happen again. He also knew that once it did, he would not have the strength to make any grand attempts at hindering it, either. As long as they did not slack in keeping it from the sight of others, it would not necessarily mean trouble. So when their next study session came and Haruka bumped their knees together beneath the table, the professor let it happen. When the powerful urge to sneak a kiss before Haruka exited the school a few days later overcame him, he let it happen. When the dark-haired boy left him a note before he took his seat one Wednesday morning that informed his teacher of the lingerie he was clad in beneath his usual clothes, he spent the rest of class scatter-minded (or more so, focused on the wrong thing) and unstable, and he let it happen.

“Nanase-kun, could I talk to you for a moment?” he called out as his students rose from their seats and began packing up their things to head for their next classes, or home. Haruka glanced up at his teacher, feigning an unknowing demeanour, and nodding at the request.

Haruka shoved his books into his bag and waited for the room to empty before walking up to the chalkboard, hands locked behind himself innocently.

“Yes, Tachibana-sensei?” he voiced his faux puzzlement, a bat or two of lashes punctuating the act. Tachibana shook his head at him, but wore a lopsided smile he couldn’t quite contain.

“Why would you tell me that _before_ class? At least spare me the torture until afterwards.”

Haruka looked away to hide his smirk. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sensei.”

Tachibana clicked his tongue, stepping closer to the younger man. He cast a glance over Haruka’s shoulder to make sure the door was closed and no one else was in the hall, trying to calculate the probability of them having visitors any time soon. He figured the only purpose someone would have, coming in here during the following hours, would be to look for him. Needless to say, this was not an impossibility, as Fujimoto-san had proven so well not too long ago. Therefore he decided that, as much as he wanted to slam Haruka’s round and perfectly tight little behind up and down his cock, the risk of being caught was too real to do it here. That didn’t mean he couldn’t do _anything_ , however.

“Don’t know, you say,” Tachibana smiled down at Haruka, and Haruka’s gut fluttered as he made himself smile back. There was something portentous in their shared gaze, something that made Haruka giddy already. “Then I guess I’ll have to show you what I mean.”

“Please do.” Haruka purred, waiting patiently for his teacher to make the first move.

Tachibana’s smile grew. “Hands on the board.” he commanded with a certain calmness Haruka couldn’t have disobeyed had he wanted to.  Naturally, though, he did not want to.

Turning his back to the rest of the room, Haruka spread his hands onto the slightly dusty chalkboard. In an instant Tachibana was behind him, a hand assessing Haruka’s butt, sliding down the convex of it. Then there were two hands, fondling him in a collected yet vaguely possessive fashion, and Haruka sighed against the board, leaning forward so that his ass lifted a little into the air.

Tachibana hooked a thumb at the hem of his skinny jeans, pulling it aside enough for the lace of Haruka’s underwear to peek out. A delicate “oh” escaped the professor, and he thumbed the panty pensively for a moment, before reaching around Haruka to unbutton his jeans.

“Here?” Haruka quickly questioned, remembering to keep his common sense even as wanton squeezed his muscles to goo.

Tachibana hummed shortly before letting out a near-giggle. “You’re not about to give me more orders, are you?”

Haruka bit his lip. He wanted to ask further—make sure Tachibana was as wise as usual. However, if the man played on without even soothing Haruka’s evident curiosity, then surely he had things under control. Thus, Haruka did not resist as his jeans were slid over his ass to his knees, nor when a finger trailed the lace string down to his unsupported sac.

“I saw you fidgeting,” Tachibana cooed, “All lecture you were fidgeting. It drove me crazy knowing why, and knowing nobody else knew why.”

“Hnng…”

Tachibana bent over to place a kiss at the dip of Haruka’s tailbone, the latter raising his backside even higher at the gesture, instinctively craving a deeper touch. “But you did well. You did your job and you didn’t let anyone know but me. That was very good of you, Nanase-kun.”

“Ah…” Haruka stared ahead at the blackboard, concentrating on the measured thumping of his pulse, “Thank you, sensei.”

“Such a good boy deserves a reward, don’t you think?” he breathed lowly, slipping a finger in between Haruka’s ass cheeks and dragging it all the way down along the string.

“Please…”

Tachibana poked harshly at his hole, and without lubrication, the touch felt more intruding than pleasurable. Haruka jerked forward a bit, a mild yelp of discomfort leaving him. Tachibana apologised gently under his breath, sinking into a crouch behind Haruka and replacing the digit with his tongue.

Haruka let a drawn-out noise of enjoyment fill the space around them, and Tachibana hushed him softly before reassuming his lapping at Haruka’s entrance.

Without moving the panty aside, he continued to lick and probe his tongue inside until Haruka was brimming with gratification—just not enough for him to climax. This, of course, Tachibana noticed, and spread his cheeks apart with his hands to fully suck and wet the other’s hole. He lined his lips up with the ring of muscle, mouth a little ‘o’ as he hollowed his cheeks and slurped greedily. His name fell from Haruka’s own lips, soft and broken against the board, and Tachibana struggled not to smile.

He pushed his tongue in again as far as he could, flicking it and caressing Haruka’s inner walls. The boy’s fingers curled, nails scraping against the blackboard and creating a nasty screech that neither of them paid any mind to.

Haruka’s hole was dripping with saliva by now, and each filthy sound made around it had the hairs on his body stand on end, blood rushing with desire. His cock was fully erect and silently begging for attention, but Tachibana seemed too focused on his ass to notice.

“Sensei, please…” Haruka pleaded meekly, angling his hips away from the other a bit, “Please, just get me o—”

“Nanase-kun,” Tachibana reprimanded simply, squeezing his plump cheeks and searching his gaze. “You can’t say please and then go on to order me. I’ll take your reward away.”

Haruka whined and shifted a bit where he stood, hunched forward. “I-I’m wearing a bra, too,” he informed the other, hoping a revelation as positive as this would give him more space to demand, “Small, just a B-cup, but with lace straps and bows.”

“Oh,” Tachibana’s face fell, “Oh, Nanase,” he said, standing up again. “Let me see.”

“Mm,” Haruka unzipped his hoodie, revealing the lilac lingerie top with transparent ruffles falling from the bottom of the cups, and bows in between as well as above them. Tachibana breathed out heavily through his nostrils.

“Haru…” he slipped, touching an unfilled bra cup thoughtlessly. His green eyes swam with elation he barely knew what to do with, and he met Haruka’s gaze as if asking for his opinion. Haruka stared back blankly, waiting for him to decide for himself, and eventually, Tachibana’s fingers slipped underneath the top, rubbing a nipple to erection.

Haruka backed up against the blackboard, knitting his brows together as Tachibana tweaked and pinched his nipple. He let out the occasional mewl and bucked his hips in vain, the empty air not providing any friction to his neglected cock.

Tachibana’s chartreuse eyes darted down at this, and he stood close to Haruka as he finally curled a hand around the latter’s length, pumping it languidly. With a curious hum to his voice, Tachibana asked, “How did you know I’d like lingerie on you so much?”

Haruka could lose himself in the way Tachibana’s skin felt on his, even though it was just a palm on his cock and another on his hip bone. “Wild guess.”

“ _Good_ guess,” Tachibana murmured, speeding up his hand movement and letting his other drift to Haruka’s behind, rubbing a fingertip at the soaked hole. “But I am pretty sure I’d like anything on you.”

Haruka moaned a little too loudly at that, and Tachibana opted to silence him by catching his mouth in a profound kiss, the speck of drool at the corner of Haruka’s mouth smudging onto Tachibana’s face as well. He sucked his student’s tongue into his mouth, marvelling at the warmth of it, the weight in his hand, the twin clutches of his biceps, one of which soon travelled up to tangle in his soft locks.

Haruka pulled away with a tiny gasp and shivered visibly, glossy eyes staring deep into Tachibana’s own as he all but wailed, “Gonna cum…”

“All right,” Tachibana whispered, stealing another kiss before sinking to his knees, pumping the orgasm out of him and tasting it in his mouth. Haruka’s nails clawed at the chalkboard again, yet another unpleasant noise screaming in his stead. To make sure he did not join in, however, Haruka had to cover his swollen lips with his hands.

Tachibana sucked him until there was nothing left of his peak, and a quaking hand pushed at his forehead as if to say “that’s enough”. Tachibana abided without arguing this time, and stood up straight to dress the younger man back up for him. Haruka’s body was wobbly like Bambi on ice, and Tachibana released a small chuckle of endearment.

“Good boy,” he whispered again, before shredding his act a bit and looking at the other with a much milder glint to his spirited greens. “Thank you. For that. Risky though it was.”

Haruka breathed out in amusement and straightened himself a little, although the tremor in his limbs was still present. He looked at Tachibana with something different from the usual mischief or darkened lust; something his professor could not pinpoint or explain, but related to, somehow.

“It’s a shame we can’t do this without risking our positions at the school,” Tachibana mumbled, hand back at Haruka’s hip bone, caressing a circular motion over his jeans with his thumb. “If the circumstances were different, maybe I could even get to know you, you know.”

Haruka looked taken aback, but not put off. He swallowed dryly and averted his eyes, assessing the room as he mulled over his words. A few beats passed in silence, before Haruka sighed softly and brushed his fingertips up Tachibana’s arms until he could lock them together behind the nape of his teacher’s neck. “I’ll graduate _some_ day.” he mused under his breath, only now noticing the pitter-patter of the raindrops outside.

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to post this for uchiuchi's birthday bc she basically made up the entire plot with her enthusiasm back when we discussed this au on twitter lmao  
> BUT i hope u like it anyway lana, even if it's 300 years late! happy belated bday!!
> 
> thanks to shinx for beta'ing d(ﾟーﾟ )


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